


Easy

by Tierfal



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Genderswap, Morning Sex, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even stupidly early weekday mornings have a certain appeal when you wake up next to that psycho woman you're in love with.</p><p>[Completely context-less post-canon-ish AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy

**Author's Note:**

> It sounded like [Rose](http://prince-of-the-palmtrees.tumblr.com/) was having a bad week, so I set out to write her some teeth-rotting über-fluff. Instead I seem to have ended up with sexy schmoop. Uh. Hmm. X'D In any case, I hope you like it, sweetie! ♥;;;
> 
> Also, damn do I love AO3's tagging options; they are stellar. STELLAR.
> 
> ETA: Rose drew [MAGNIFICENT ART](http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc157/tierfal/tumblr_n4pt75vkLd1sod2dro1_500_zpsee44b743.jpg)! (Originally posted [here](http://prince-of-the-palmtrees.tumblr.com/post/84075524432/tierfal-wrote-this-sexy-beautiful-story-for-me)!)

Ed is woken by the light, light scrape of a fingernail tracing the curve of her shoulder-blade.

Old habits die hard, and instincts don’t even seem to die; they just kind of go dormant—but over the last couple months, she’s mostly tamped those down.  Time was, feeling that would’ve catapulted her from _mostly-dreaming_ straight through to _all-consuming panic_ , given the whole combination of problematic questions—including but not limited to _Where the fuck am I?  Who the fuck is that?  Why the fuck am I naked?_

Thing is, she knows the answers now.  It’s just a matter of trying to get her brain to remember that when it’s first shaking off the fog of solid sleep.  She only ever made it this far for two reasons—one, that Al was usually standing (well, sitting) vigil while she slept; two, that her head was always programmed to respond to waking up with instantaneous alertness and preparation for emergency.  Maybe that was always paranoid, but her life was kind of one big, long chain of emergencies, so… it worked.

But she knows the answers now.  And most mornings, she can just kinda lie there with her face in the pillow and her hair all over the goddamn place and a sunbeam warming up the sheets and a manicured fingernail tickling at her back and _not_ freak out, ’cause those answers are pretty simple.

_I’m in a comfy-as-shit bed.  That’s Roza.  We had mind-blowingly fucking awesome sex last night._

There.  Easy.

Which isn’t to say it isn’t still surreal as _hell_ most of the time.

“’Morning,” she mumbles to the owner of the fingernail without raising her head.  “Why’re you doing that.”

Properly inflected questions are reserved for after nine.  She doesn’t know what time it is exactly, but it’s definitely not anywhere near nine yet.

“Do I need a reason to revel in the simple joy of touching you?” Roza asks, voice all smooth and soft and light with just a _little_ bit of sleepy-purr rumbling underneath it.

Fucking bitch is so hot it should be illegal.  Except that if they handcuffed her, that’d probably just make it worse.

Ed tries not to squirm as the stupid-awesome fingernail drags down over her ribs.  “Wha’z so joyous about it.”

“Ed, my darling…”

It’s too fuckin’ early for the fuckin’ pet names.

…but it’s just about the right time for a gentle nose nudging at her ear, closely followed by a warm, wet mouth, so maybe she’ll let it go.

“…you are the single most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Barf,” Ed says into the pillow.  “Also, bullshit.”

“I wish it was,” Roza says.  Several more fingernails graze the back of Ed’s neck as Roza guides her hair aside, smooths it against the sheets, and starts kissing down Ed’s vertebrae.  “The single most exquisite torment I have ever endured is to look at you when I can’t touch you to be sure you’re real.”

Ed pushes her face deeper into the pillow.  Maybe she can suffocate herself.  “Shut _up_.”

“All right,” Roza says.  Something’s fishy as fuck; she _never_ gives up on the schmoopy compliment thing.  “I don’t suppose I really need to speak to tell you how I feel.”

Ed’s not sure she likes the sound of that.

But holy _shit_ does she love the end result, which is Roza’s damp mouth trailing down her spine.  Ed wriggles as the deft fingertips settle on her hip, and the gorgeous fucking lips drag down progressively closer to her ass.

“ _Fuck_.”  If pillows could talk, this one would probably speak only in strings of expletives, since that’s about all she’s taught it.  Maybe an embarrassing moan or two.  And that one scream that got the cops called on them.  And some mumbling in her sleep, probably.

“Mmm,” Roza says into her skin.  “I was considering it.”

“Don’t you have to go to work?” Ed asks, regretting the fact that she feels kind of obligated to jeopardize the possibility of a _really_ great morning.

“Eventually,” Roza says.  Her mouth drifts in a lazy swoop down towards Ed’s hip, and then back up.

Ed will not wriggle.  Or groan.  Or weep at the sheer impossible magnificence of it, of Roza Mustang’s goddamn too-beautiful _mouth_ on _her_ —of all people to stumble into this privilege, she never thought—never even _dreamed_ — “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I can be a touch… tardy.” Oh, _fuck_ , there’s the tongue on Ed’s ass, trailing slowly, goosebumps everywhere; it’s _over_ ; she’s _doomed_.  “I have some critically important business to take care of first.”

Ed’s toes are curling, but she has to snicker into the pillow.  “You think Hawkeye’s gonna buy that?”

“Of course not.”  Shit— _shit_ —tongue moving _so_ lightly down along the curve to the crease where her ass hits her thigh, and she is _so gone_ — “But what’s he going to say?  ‘Please stop having wonderful morning sex that makes you much more agreeable for the rest of the day, sir’?”

Ed’s voice comes out way more strained and obviously-wound-up than she’d like, but that’s a battle she’s willing to lose.  “How about we stop talking about it?”

Roza’s soft laugh against her skin is just— _just_ — “That is a fine idea, my dear.”

Ed will vouch for the fineness of several other ideas they have after that—starting with Roza lifting Ed’s hips to set her on her knees and getting that _fucking_ tongue all up in—everything—first from behind and then from below and then flipping her over on her back again and taking both her hands and licking and lapping and then nipping _so_ fucking gently at the insides of her thighs until she _shatters_ and not even complaining when the automail hand leaves harsh red marks all over her fingers where they were linked—

Ed tries to make up for that with her other hand.  And Roza really, _really_ likes dirty talk, so even though Ed’s _grotesquely_ bad at it, she tries her honest best, and that seems to be enough.

They end up sort of sprawled all over each other, faintly sweaty and radiating heat, and all of Ed’s joints (including the metal ones, somehow) feel like jelly, and god _damn_ , is it good.

Roza tickles at the back of Ed’s right knee with her toes, which is so stupid and cute that Ed’s helpless giggling is only half because of the sensation.

“I think I’m ready to face the day now,” Roza says, working her fingers through Ed’s horrifyingly tangled hair.  “Once I can stand, I mean.”

Ed wants to drape all the metal limbs over her to weigh her down and render that impossible and keep her in bed for hours.  But that’s what weekends are for; right now she has to be noble or some shit.

…sort of.

“You want some help getting in the shower?” she asks.

Roza’s whole face lights up when she gives it over to that half-sweet, half-wicked little grin that’s Ed’s and Ed’s alone.

“That would be lovely,” she says, “although I think you forgot a word.”

“My bad,” Ed says.  “You want some help getting _off_ in the shower?”

Roza kisses her until neither of them seems to remember how to breathe.


End file.
